


These Inches Between Us

by Squishy_TRex



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Angharad Lives AU, Angst, F/F, Romance, The Splendid Angharad Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishy_TRex/pseuds/Squishy_TRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Furiosa sees too many gaps between them. Angharad doesn't see any.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Inches Between Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supergirrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergirrl/gifts).



> Here is my weak-ass contribution to Femslash February, less than an hour before it ends because I am the ultimate procrastinator.

“Tell me again. About the Green Place.”

Furiosa sighed, shifting slightly to lean against the unforgiving rock of the Citadel walls. Angharad was seated beside her and Furiosa didn’t have to look to know the younger woman was staring at her with that ever present spark of fierce wonder and curiosity.

The two of them had been able to secure time alone together, Joe otherwise occupied by entertaining emissaries from Gastown. Angharad had successfully managed to anger him enough to leave her alone again so she had quickly found Furiosa so they could continue on the plans for escape. Right now, however, they were at an impasse as to how to secretly smuggle the Wives out of the Citadel and were taking a break, the hot sun of the Waste clouding their ability to think.

“I’ve already told you all I can remember,” Furiosa objected. She could see the slight shrug of Angharad’s shoulders in the corner of her eye.

“I like hearing you talk about it,” she responded. Her voice turned wistful. “You make it sound like a…” she paused to search for a word, something Miss Giddy taught her. “A paradise,” she said finally.

Furiosa frowned, feeling an unusual fluttering in her stomach, unsure of why that simple statement seemed to touch her. Chancing a real look at Angharad, she could see, as guessed, the familiar look of abject wonder. Locking eyes, Furiosa could see the wonder soften into something reaching affection. Just above Angharad’s eyes, she saw her fresh scars, the jagged lines carved out of defiance, that honestly did not mar her beauty.

She jerked her head away to the side and fixed her gaze on her metal arm, flexing her mechanical fingers.

“It’s the only place I have any good memories of. The only place worth anything out here in the Waste,” she said. The firm tone in her voice was meant to dissuade Angharad from the subject, but of course, Angharad wasn’t listening.

“And it’s still there? Even now?” Angharad asked quietly, betraying the slight doubts that Furiosa knew all of the Wives felt. The plan for them all to escape from the Citadel had been in preparation since Angharad knew she was with child. They were apprehensive at first, until Angharad had rallied them to trust her and Furiosa’s stories of a life beyond the Waste, beyond ruin. And even though they were all prepared to go through with it, fear still lingered. Living in the Citadel with Immortan Joe tended to rob even the strongest wills of hope.

Furiosa nodded firmly.

“I know it is. The Many Mothers would never allow it to be destroyed.” The glare of the hot sun behind them glinted off her metal. Furiosa stared at it and remembered when it wasn’t metal, just soft flesh. A hand, one she’d used for throwing fistfuls of Green in the air, for holding the hand of Mary Jo Bassa who always squeezed back, for doing soft and good things that were impossible now.

 Feeling a surge of rage, Furiosa unbuckled it and flung it aside. The prosthetic clanged against the stones between her and Angharad.

“Immortan Joe is the only one who allows things to be destroyed,” Furiosa said, finality breaching the quiet rage in her voice.

A moment of silence passed, quiet enough for the outside clanging and chatter in the Citadel, mostly among the War Boys, to be heard.

“You’re not a thing,” Anghrad murmured.

Furiosa took in a deep breath, chasing away her short, shallow ones.

“Not always,” she admitted, memories still forthcoming. “Joe made me his thing. And I…” her voice cracked. “I let him.”

Silence descended on them again. Until Angharad reached out and gently picked up the metal prosthetic, cradling it despite how hot it probably was. Furiosa carefully watched her soft hands tenderly trace the metallic edges and cracks. She didn’t speak but gestured it towards Furiosa who, after a minute of quiet thought, moved closer and extended her limb.

Watching her, Furiosa could feel the fluttering in her stomach pick up strength. The feeling of supple, unscarred hands on her own skin only made it worse.  

 “We can take things back from him,” Angharad insisted. After finishing reattaching Furiosa’s arm she reached between them to clasp both of her hands. Surprised, Furiosa let her. The soft skin against her metal was a contrast that sent Furiosa’s heart rate up a few notches.  

“Everything he’s ever taken from us can be ours again,” she said fiercely, tracing unintelligible patterns in Furiosa’s palms with her thumbs.

“We can belong to ourselves.” Angharad licked her lips. “To each other.”

She started to lean in closer and any remaining air immediately left Furiosa’s lungs. Fearful of moving, breaking the quiet spell between them that had blocked out everything, she gave Angharad unspoken permission to come closer, enough so that stray blond hairs tickled her face. Close enough that a slight move would bring their lips together, breaking the silence. Breaking Furiosa.

But still, she couldn’t quiet keep herself from wanting to close the distance, a small smile on those full lips brining her closer. A tiny, girlish giggle escaped Angharad and Furiosa felt herself internally screech to a halt.

“No.” That part came out in a stern whisper. Angharad paused, full lips inches away, brilliant blue eyes wide and open. She never looked younger to Furiosa than in that moment. Which was why, even if her heart and body were rebelling ecstatically, screaming _yes yes this is what you want._ Furiosa had been alive so much longer than Angharad, allowed this world and Joe to break her and reshape into something ugly. Scars crisscrossed her body where she knew Angharad was untouched. Blood had passed through her hands where Angharad’s were clean. Everything about Furiosa had been twisted by a lifetime of destruction. She would not, could not, corrupt Angharad that way. Not when they were so close to true freedom.

“We can’t,” Furiosa said. And she said the worst thing she could say, the one thing that was running through her mind. The worst truth. “You’re too young.”  

Angharad pulled back sharply, the affection and lust on her face distorting into anger. Furiosa kept her face unchanged even as something inside her started to ebb away.

“I should get back. Joe will be wondering where one of his _young_ wives is,” she spat. Standing up quickly, she kept a hand on her pregnant belly, a gesture that kicked Furiosa in the stomach. But she didn’t say anything. And kept quiet even as she watched Angharad walk away.

* * *

They didn’t speak of it again. Furiosa still felt her heart face and her stomach flutter in Angharad’s presence but never let them overpower her. She still knew her decision had been right, to keep Angharad from tying herself to someone who would only bring her pain. And if she caught Angharad looking at her from time to time, could feel her cautiously come closer, Furiosa never said anything.

Their plans proceeded as intended. Riding in the War Rig, destined towards the Green Place with the Wives in tow, Furiosa felt Angharad’s words deeper than before.

And then, when everything seemed to be falling into place, when it seemed like they had finally gained an advantage over Joe and his Warboys, the unthinkable happened.

She lost her.

Caught underneath the wheels. Furiosa had numbly repeated the words to herself in her head over and over as they continued.

And even though she wanted to stop.

She had denied her before. She wouldn’t do it again.

When they came back, they came back with a vengeance. Rage and fury blazing between them like the hottest fire in the desert. Angharad’s death would not be in vain. Even though Immortan Joe had taken her, Furiosa felt her words beat against her chest.

_We can take things back from him._

And so they did.

As they ascended into the Citadel, Furiosa felt the hollow victory of not having her beside them.

She closed her eyes and absorbed the pain.

* * *

In the after, when the Citadel was theirs, rebuilding was a task that Furiosa threw herself into.

Different assignments had been charged to all the Wives, each of them quickly finding a niche within the remnants of the Citadel that were worth saving.

Furiosa had been accepted as the new de facto leader almost immediately and begun working on how to maximize any salvageable assets while

As the initially strange feelings of returning to their prison had passed, the rebuilding of the Citadel had consumed their lives to the point of routine. They had all taken part in rebuilding it into something that resembled a home, somewhere they could feel safe and relaxed. Their own Green Place.

And every day Furiosa wished Angharad was there to witness it.

Until one afternoon, when Furiosa is holding a small council with the remaining Vuvalini, nearing the end of another exhausting and fulfilling day of rebuilding and Cheedo burst into the room, out of breath.

“Furiosa,” she breathed out. She gave a quick nod to the others in the room, her body vibrating with energy. “Toast came back from scouting and you won’t-“ she breathed in again, sharp. “You have to come see.”

Confused and concerned, Furiosa and the others quickly followed Cheedo towards the Citadel’s entrance, the open area still rife with the memories of their victorious return. As they made their way down, a crowd had already begun to gather. Growing even more curious, Furiosa pushed through all the Warboys and other residents, she could hear whispers of “a miracle” and “glory be.” Heart pounding in full time as she reached the front, where the Gigahorse had been stopped, she quickly spotted Capable’s fiery red hair. Her sisters, Toast and The Dag, were beside her and all of them seemed to be…talking with someone, their closely knit bodies obstructing the view.

Suddenly, Dag broke away from them, pulling someone with her. Furiosa felt her breath stutter when she recognized who it was. Miss Giddy. Who they had all believed was killed by Joe before or during their final assault. But here she was, alive, looking scorched by the sun and as if she was carrying the weight of the world. Dag was propping her up and helping her walk, Miss Giddy’s gait unsteady. Cheedo scurried over to the Dag and helped distribute the weight.

As they passed by, Dag looked at Furiosa and gave her a secret smile. Furiosa furrowed her brow and found her mind racing to the next conclusion.

If they found Miss Giddy out in the Waste…then it might be possible…

She turned back to Capable and Toast, who were still animatedly talking with an unknown figure. Someone, that judging from their gestures, they were happy to see.

Someone, that, maybe, they had missed.

Max’s words came back to her. _Caught under the wheels._

Furiosa swallowed.

It couldn’t be. It would be too much to hope for, to ask for.

But Toast turned away to bend an ear to a small Warboy, a messenger, and Furiosa saw golden hair and her whole world tilted.

There was a roaring in her ears, the whole world blocked out as she lurched forward, trying to hold herself steady and failing.

She was alive.

Her mind tried to deny it, hastily holding up the walls of anguish and practicality that she had constructed to protect herself.

But Angharad turned away from Capable and found Furiosa amid the crowd.

She smiled, tired face breaking open like the sunrise across the morning sky. And Furiosa broke with it.  

The rest of her steps forward were a blur but suddenly she was there, between Capable and Toast, breathing hard and feeling light on her feet for the first time since she was a child.

Angharad looked up at her, still smiling, but here, with no less than a few inches between them, Furiosa could read every new line in her face. They all spoke the same truth; she had survived and aged years, far beyond what she’d been when they’d left the Citadel. Gone was any trace of youth, replaced by the hardened steel of survivors. But Furiosa saw in her blue eyes, still as brilliant as the water that flowed through the Citadel, a hint of the mirth and gentleness Furiosa had been privy to before.

Despite everyone around them, this moment felt like another private one that only they shared. Furiosa breathed heavily, wanting to say a million things to her. And, gaze drifting to her cracked and dried lips, wanting to _do_ only one.

Angharad’s smile faltered as she took a hesitant step forward and Furiosa brought herself back to the present and folded her in an embrace. For once, her metal arm was cool against Angharad’s sun burnt skin.

The soft, contented sigh against her skin, dry golden hair tickling her arm, was enough for Furiosa in this moment. They could have the rest later.

As cheers and chants rose up around them, she held Angharad in her arms, feeling her strong, pounding heart beating against her own. A familiar phrase started to pulse through the crowd, a version of one oft chanted by the Warboys and, at a time, herself.

_She lived, she died, she lived again._

* * *

Dismantling the Vault had been one of the first projects they had tackled, using their strength plus those of the hundred or so Warboys to tear off the steel door and destroy it.

The decision to keep the rest of it intact however, had been unanimous among the Wives. After all, their library of books still resided there and it was the only spot in the Citadel with a working bath, the highest “luxury” Joe had bestowed upon them.

That was where Angharad carried herself first. Her sisters had hovered, walking with her and shooing away any curious Warboys. But on reaching the bath, Angharad quietly requested privacy, a moment alone to rest and relax.

She had looked at Furiosa meaningfully on the last words. Fighting the redness in her face, Furiosa returned a cool look that hopefully betrayed nothing.

After everyone scattered, leaving the two of them alone, Angharad looked at Furiosa expectantly, who had no idea how to proceed from here.

Words failing her, she gestured towards the bath and Angharad, looking a little disappointed, quickly shed the filthy remains of her clothes as Furiosa determinedly averted her eyes.

When she had settled herself fully into the bath, signaling it through a drawn out groan, Furiosa turned and came as close to the edge of the bath as she dared. She kneeled beside Angharad, the swell of her naked breasts a distraction as they bobbed against the water.

Being close before was different; they only had hushed whispers and the fierce urgency of their plan. Their love, Furiosa could admit that much to herself now, had been burgeoning, something small and fluttering. She made the mistake of thinking it was easy to ignore and

But now, with no threat of Joe and both of them alive, it seemed large and unwieldy; nothing about it had ebbed since they’d been apart, only growing stronger. It felt like getting behind the wheel of the War Rig for the first time and not believing she could drive it herself. But, just as in that moment, Furiosa knew she had to at least try. For both of them.

She still had no idea where to begin, however, and, seeing the nervous look on Angharad’s face, she didn’t either.

“How did you survive?” Furiosa asked, deciding to start with the question that hadn’t let her mind since seeing her.

Angharad shrugged, looking into the water as she hugged her knees to her chest.

“I wanted to,” she said simply, as if that were explanation enough. Furiosa frowned, about to protest the unsatisfying answer.

“I suppose…I had something I wanted to survive for,” she continued, looking back up at Furiosa and piercing right through with those blue eyes. She would swear up and down that nothing could rival the beauty of Angharad’s eyes.

Not for the first time and probably not for any time after, Furiosa found that she couldn’t look away. She knew what this meant, what Angharad was saying, but after the way they had left things, the way Furiosa had burned and destroyed something so good.

“Do you still see me as a child?” Angharad asked quietly, voice still strong despite the obvious apprehension. That hadn’t been the word Furiosa had used, but the meaning was the same. And she felt the shame rolling over her like a hot desert wind. The woman in front of her was no more a child than any of them here. She had survived where no else could, against all possibilities, and had come home to them. To her.

Furiosa felt her heart bang painfully against her chest at the thought of Angharad, bleeding and battered, alone in the Waste with only Miss Giddy and no hope for a rescue. She could live a thousand lifetimes and never be over how cruel and callous she’d been. At least now she had a second chance to fix it.

“No,” Furiosa said, her voice hoarse. “I was wrong when I said that.” She swallowed. “I was wrong about a lot of things.”

She took in a deep breath.

“When I said that to you, it was because I was afraid. Afraid of what I am-what I was. Afraid that I would ruin you the way Joe had. And,” she paused. “Afraid of letting myself be happy, when I thought it would be taken away from me.”

Angharad was listening, and eyes still fixed on Furiosa, moved a hand out of the water to hold onto her metal hand. Furiosa pushed on, feeling the surety of the words rolling in her mind.

“But I’m not afraid anymore,” she said, her voice hard as steel. Joe was gone. She had made it happen, spurred by rage at all the things he’d stolen from them, from her. From the woman in front of her, who she undoubtedly loved, her heart and body-wracked nerves echoing the sentiment. And she was going to listen to the woman she loved, like she should have back then, and take these things back from him.

Angharad smiled at her and lifted her chin, damp strands of blonde hair clinging to her wet skin. She squeezed the prosthetic hand tightly.

“Show me.”

And Furiosa, leaning forward and finally closing the gap between them, did.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully someday I can actually do these two justice with my writing, but for now this will have to do.


End file.
